What Do We Fight For?
by CheckYourVitals
Summary: Having mastered the Deathly Hallows, Harry Potter is reborn time and time again so that he is now so tired and dead inside that he no longer cares what happens to the world or the people in it. So what happens when, as a six year old, he wakes up in 1944 in Wool's orphanage? Apathetic!Dark!Harry
1. Chapter 1

**What Do We Fight For?**

**Summary:** Having mastered the Deathly Hallows, Harry Potter is reborn time and time again so that he is now so tired and dead inside that he no longer cares what happens to the world or the people in it. So what happens when, as a six year old, he wakes up in 1944 in Wool's orphanage? Apathetic!Dark!Harry

Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me and anything you recognise belongs to the wonderful J.K Rowling

A/N: I know there's been plenty of fan-fictions on these subjects but I love reading them so I thought I'd try my hand at writing one. It will most likely turn out crap but I'm hoping there will be people out there kind enough to bless me with their reads and reviews

_**Notes:**__ Previously published under the title 'Living To Die'. Now rewritten to seem more realistic and hopefully not as bad._

* * *

Chapter 1:

Somewhere in England, a small boy of just four sat in a dense forest as rain drops poured heavily on him, gazing up at the sky blankly. The scrawny boy seemed oblivious to the rain that pelted him, soaking his hair and clothes and trickling down his smooth face, his light eyes dead and empty yet so bright. Shutting them briefly he took a deep breath - When they reopened they were filled with resigned determination.

Turning his gaze to his small hands where an object glistened threateningly in his pale palms he lifted it up. Then, in one swift movement of one who'd done it many times before, drew the blade across his neck. He was dead before his head hit the ground. The crimson blood soaking into the rain and staining the leaves underneath.

The next time those dazzling bright eyes opened, they were staring into brilliant emerald orbs smiling gently at him from an exhausted face. And he did what any normal newborn baby would. He screamed.

* * *

A small boy with brilliant eyes and untamed back hair lay on his back staring up at the ceiling, his eyes following the path of a spider as it wove it's web in the corner of the cupboard.

5 times now… 5 times he had died and 5 times he had awoken in his mother's arms.

Eyes fixed on the dim ceiling above his bed Harry lay thinking, thinking thoughts a 6 year old shouldn't be. He felt like he wanted to cry, like he should be crying but he was too dead inside to even bring up a spark of emotion.

Truth was, he was bored, he was fed up and he was _tired. _Why did _he_ have to be cursed? What had he done wrong? Maybe he would never know. Sighing, he turned onto his side, eyes staring through the small door and into nothingness. He'd done everything he could think of in the hope that he would just be able to _stay dead _and just repeating the same thing over and over and over and over... He'd gone mad.

On his forth life he'd given into the temptation and started to study the 'oh so evil' dark magic, deciding to learn all branches of magic, fed up of restrictions. He now understood why dark wizards enjoyed casting their magic so much, the first time he'd started casting dark magic he felt a rush, it had been intoxicating and thrilling and _dangerous._ It had left him wanting to feel it again and again.

It terrified him. And he refused to touch it for several years.

However he continued to study it, learning everything he could about dark magic from any book he could get his hands on. He couldn't say that he had any qualms about it now, magic was magic. But the feeling it gave him? The pure bliss he felt? That was what scared him the most. That was what prevented him from going all out. He just wondered how long it would be until he craved.

Scowling, Harry glared at nothing in particular, quite frankly, he was tired. Tired of having to go through the first ten years of his life with the Dursley's who, he had come to the realisation, he hated. Not a simple dislike, but a pure and deep loathing. He was even tired of attending Hogwarts and he'd long since given up making friends of any sort...What was the point? When everything he worked so hard for just reset and started over again. Surrounded by naïve children and manipulative adults who always tried to mould him into what they wanted him to be.

Just because he was the lights 'saviour' where he was anything but. He hated how they put all their faith in a child. Never mind there would be people better suited for the job. And Dumbledore.. Well Harry realised he wasn't all he seemed on only his second life. Since he was less naïve and more powerful than his past 11 year old self, he recognised the subtle attempts at compulsion charms and carefully placed words the old man would use. There was no doubt about it that Albus was a master of his game. Oh Harry was sure the old man had a good heart but that didn't change the fact that Dumbledore was just as manipulative as Voldemort when it came down to it.

One thing he was sure on though was that he no longer felt any love for muggles, in some of his past lives, the wizarding world's stupidity had got them discovered and then they had made the mistake of trying to live peacefully with them. Once upon a time Harry would have agreed with them, but not any more. The muggles were huge in size and despite them having magic on their side, they were completely outnumbered. Sometimes, war had broke out and each time the magical world lost, forcing those few remaining witches and wizards to scatter and go into permanent hiding. Muggles were afraid of magic, afraid of someone being more powerful than them so, if they couldn't take it for themselves, they destroyed it. Which is exactly what they did.

Hearing the muffled noises of the Dursley's clattering about above his head as they got themselves prepared for bed, Harry turned onto his back again, staring distantly at the ceiling for a few seconds before shutting his emerald eyes and letting out a sigh.

5 years to wait until his Hogwarts letter. 5 years that he was not going to spend being pushed around by the Dursley's.

Once all noise upstairs had ceased Harry placed his hand on the doorknob, feeling the familiar sensation of _magic _as it rushed from his very core to his hand. The cupboard unlocked and, seconds later, he was out the front door.

Looking out into the darkness with not even the moon or stars to guide him, the small wizard started walking. Where he wasn't sure. He just wanted to get _away. _Wanted to escape if just for a moment. Unlike his last life however he wasn't going to kill himself. It had been a test that failed, a hope that was diminished in seconds. Because if even dying by his own hand didn't work then what _would? _

He didn't know.

Maybe he would never find out. Maybe he would simply be stuck, forever going round and round in a circle. No end, no hope of ever stopping. That thought alone was enough to break Harry inside just a little.

He just wasn't sure what to _do. _Because what could he do? Research had led him nowhere because who had ever _needed _to research his situation. Who had ever even _thought _that living your life over and over was possible?

So lost in his thoughts Harry barely even noticed when the rain started until he was soaked through, his flimsy clothes clinging pathetically to his body. Lightening struck, making the shadows jump and flash eerily, leaping out at the emerald eyed boy as though to swallow him whole.

Stopping after almost an hour of aimless walking he realised that he was merely standing in the middle of a deserted field, and as the storm picked up Harry was unable to prevent his body from reacting the the weather.

With the rain pelting down at full force Harry was suddenly unable to see, his glasses covered with water that was replaced the instance he wiped them with his hands. Wondering if he might die anyway form hyperthermia, Harry stayed perfectly still, trying to catch his bearings and knowing he would just get lost should he start walking.

They say the chances of getting hit by lightening in your life time is 1 in 3000. And having lived through over 5 muggle lifetimes and being Harry frickin' Potter… he supposed he really shouldn't have been surprised.

A blinding pain pierced through his entire body- his veins feeling like ice and fire all in one. As if that wasn't enough his _scar, _his scar sent a hot white burst of pain through his senses, scorching every nerve and immediately knocking him unconscious.

However when the storm finally cleared there was no 6 year old body lying on the grass; in-fact there was no sign of someone ever having stood there. Because Harry James Potter was gone.

And in the summer of 1944, green eyes opened.


	2. Chapter 2

_**What Do We Fight For?**_

_**A/N:**_Thank you to all those that favourited, followed or left a review. This chapter has to happen unfortunately- just setting up the scene.

_**Chapter 2: **_

With a burst of blinding pain Harry slowly registered the fact that he was lying flat on his back- the grass brushing lightly against his skin and leaving him with the urge to scratch at it as he blinked several times. Becoming slowly aware of his surroundings his eyes took in the clear blue sky indifferently for a brief moment before confusion hit him.

The first thing he realised was that the storm had somehow ceased and had instead been replaced by the bright gleam of the sun. That triggered another warning bell in Harry's mind because it had been night what seemed like merely minutes before.

Carefully getting to his feet and looking around Harry expected to see _some _sign that the storm had happened- but the grass wasn't even the slightest bit damp. Slightly disorientated he started to walk blindly in a direction, trying to ignore the dull pain in his head and the sharp stinging of his scar. Something trickled down his face and he wiped his hand across his forehead.

It came away red.

Harry frowned at the crimson smear on his palm that glistened slightly from the sunlight. He couldn't remember an instance where his curse scar had actually bled before and he wasn't sure what to make of it. What did it mean? Voldemort hadn't even been resurrected yet.

Slowly his feet carried him forward, his mind distracted.

Unsure about this turn of events Harry finally saw buildings in the near distance after what felt like hours had past and he aimed towards them, trying to clear his thoughts and focus on the ground in front of him.

As he continued however and came upon a street, Harry realised a second thing. Everything and everyone looked outdated, old fashioned and Harry had to pause in slight bewilderment. As people walked by they gave him strange looks but no one stopped to offer any help to the small boy who was soaked to the bone and had blood dripping down his face.

Shaking his head as though it would clear it and trying his hardest to ignore the piercing pain in his brain, Harry started walking down the street, choosing to disregard all the odd looks everyone was giving him.

Staring dazedly around him his attention was finally drawn to an abandoned newspaper lying forgotten on a wall. Reaching out towards it with a feeling of anticipation rising in his stomach, Harry could only stare in disbelief once he had flipped it over. 1944 the date at the top read though it took a while for his brain to process that fact. _1944! _Harry's eyes widened in incredibility. _How had..? _

He couldn't remember! He didn't know. The lightening maybe? His thoughts were a scramble as his brain worked vigorously to try and figure it out to no avail. Because it just wasn't _possible… _And yet unless he was dreaming, here he was.

The newspaper dropped to the floor, it's pages flying open and landing in a jumbled mess. Harry didn't even notice- his thoughts too chaotic as theories and ideas scrambled to the front only to be discarded within seconds.

Harry then started walking through the crowd of people, all the time wondering what to do. He had nowhere to go, no one to go to. He still wasn't entirely sure that he _believed_ the newspaper print because traveling back more than 40 years just wasn't heard of. You couldn't _do _it. Yet everything around him pointed to the possibility that maybe, maybe he had.

And with that thought, that realisation came _hope. _Because it was _different. _It was something new and suddenly the future didn't seem so bleak and distinct. Suddenly a whole new range of _possibilities _seemed to open up because he _hadn't _lived this before.

He had almost forgotten what it was like not knowing.

* * *

Night had completely fallen and all was silent save for the occasional car or breath of wind. Harry Potter stumbled his way through the streets, his small frame feeling week and fragile due to the lack of food and sleep in his system. 15 nights had passed since he had arrived in the past and Harry found himself becoming increasingly desperate.

He had finally accepted the fact that he might just not be in the the 1980's anymore. Number 4 Privet Drive didn't even _exist. _And while Harry certainly felt no sense of pain or loss at that thought, it did mean that he had no form of shelter to go to nor food to eat.

He'd been forced to steal money when he could but Harry couldn't exactly say he was an expert thief- far from it- however there was little other choice unless he wanted to die from starvation. The nights were cold and all he had was the one pair of worn clothes he had been wearing for weeks now that provided little to no protection from the night air.

His feet hurt from running, the soles of his shoes nearing non existent and he had barely managed to avoid being arrested after one of the muggles had caught him trying to take their wallet. Though the small wizard was currently weighing the benefits of being taken in by the police and was quickly coming to the realisation that it might be his best option.

A cough erupted from from his chest and he spluttered, loosing his footing and stumbling, falling onto the harsh ground.

It took rather a lot of effort but he managed to lift his head, despite the temptation to simply close his eyes and let go, and found himself staring at a dismal grey building.

'_Wool's Orphanage.' _

A rusty sign read and Harry could have cried with relief. The name seemed slightly familiar, tugging at something in his memories but for now he put it to the back of his mind and with his last hidden strength, forced himself to stand and staggered towards the small ray of hope. Making it past the old iron fence he weakly knocked on the door, resisting the urge to fall forward, and waited impatiently for someone to answer.

When the door finally did open, it was to a strict looking woman with greying hair and sharp eyes that took in the figure before her for only a second before opening the door wider... To which he promptly collapsed.

* * *

"... his parents?"

"Maybe he doesn't have any. What with the war I wouldn't be too surprised. Too many children are ending up orphans because of it Martha."

A sigh, "It's terrible really..."

Harry frowned and pressed his eyes even more firmly together, trying to block out the noise. All he wanted was sleep.

Unfortunately, his wish was not granted for their voices continued and finally, he shot his eyes open in annoyance.

"...and I.. Oh, he's awake!" A feminine voice called out and he sat up in bed to see the women that had opened the door to him earlier and another girl, perhaps in her mid twenties, staring at him in concern.

The older woman peered at him for a moment before speaking, her voice sharp and firm, "Do you remember how you got here boy?"

Harry merely shook his head, noticing that he was no longer wearing his torn and dirt covered clothes but was instead dressed in an itching grey uniform that scratched against his skin unpleasantly.

"What about your parents, do you know where they are?"

"Dead." Harry replied bluntly.

Hearing this, the younger woman's eyes widened considerably and filled with a sadness Harry didn't care to see. "Oh I'm so sorry!" The woman- Martha- said, staring at him with pity.

Harry merely shrugged, so used to the useless platitude by now that in truth, did nothing.

The other woman stared at him with sightly softer eyes, though it did little to lesson the sharpness of her face, "How old are you?"

"Six." Harry replied though he would admit that he had long since lost count of his real age. 300. 400. 500. The years all simply blurred together.

"And what's your name sweetie?" Martha asked him kindly.

Harry paused, what name should he use? After a few seconds of silence, Harry decided to keep his name. There was no harm in it after all... no one would recognise it. Besides, he didn't really want to start having to answer to another name which was no easy feat.

"Harry."

"Do you have a last?" Martha's voice was kind and comforting as she smiled down at the small scrawny boy who felt as if he was undergoing an interrogation.

"Potter."

Behind Martha, the other woman spoke up though her voice had lost it's sharp quality, "Well Mr Potter, it seems you will be staying here for the near future."

Harry gazed at her through blank eyes, "Here?"

"You are at Wool's orphanage and I am the matron, Mrs Cole."

Once again, Harry was struck with the strongest sense of familiarity.

"Do I have to stay? Miss." He added the honorific as an afterthought. If he was going to be staying in the orphanage- and Harry wasn't entirely sure whether he would or not- then there was no reason to not try and get on the matron's good side. If she had one. Harry wasn't sure she did however he could at least try to avoid her bad one.

"For the time being yes. At least until any relatives come and claim you."

"And what if I don't have any relatives?"

She stared at him inquisitively, "Then I'm afraid that this will be your permanent residence."

Harry merely nodded. He doubted the matron would really be able to stop him from leaving if he wanted to. Then both women turned to leave, Martha shooting him a quick smile he was sure was meant to be reassuring.

Mrs Cole faced him once more just before she left, "I expect you to be down for breakfast in 20 minutes and you can meet the other children. The rules will be explained to you later but for now you should rest."

Harry simply nodded once again and watched as both women left, shutting the door behind them and leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Glancing around the room that he would be staying in for at least the near future, he noticed it was very dull and plain, with only a small bed, a wooden desk, window and a bed-stool next to him with a old looking lamp on it. The wall paper was a filthy cream colour and was peeling in most places while the ceiling looked to be covered in dust and cobwebs. A small sigh escaped him, it might not be the nicest of places but it was better than living out on the streets in the cold with no food or shelter.

He couldn't help but wonder if this place would be any better than the Dursley's.

* * *

After around 20 minutes of doing nothing but lying on his back, there was a knock on his door and a gruff voice calling through. "Breakfast!"

Harry blinked, time to see the other people of this orphanage. He had no interest in making friends however, especially not with muggles that would turn against him the moment they realised he was different. Besides, forming attachments to people… it would only hurt more when he started again.

Unsure of what to expect Harry made his way to the kitchen, following some other children who were also heading in that direction. In silence, Harry joined the line and tried his best to blend in. It wasn't hard, he was already in the undesirable uniform they were required to wear and he had the advantage of being small- causing most to overlook and ignore him completely.

After receiving a meagre portion of something Harry didn't think deserved to be called food, he glanced around the tables, looking for a secluded area he could sit in. Almost immediately, his eyes were drawn to a small table at the back of the room that everyone else seemed to avoid like the plague. He frowned, but then shrugged, making his way slowly over and dropping himself down on a stool.

For some reason, this gained the opposite effect to what he was trying to achieve and he soon felt all eyes go to him much to his confusion and annoyance. His confusion however, was answered moments later when a shadow fell across his tiny form.

Looking up Harry felt genuine surprise when he was greeted with what appeared to be the splitting image of teenage Voldemort from the diary. For a moment Harry could only stare, wondering if he was supposed to feel anger, hatred, _something._

But if the feelings were there they had dimmed considerably with time and were instead buried deep inside and Harry found his mask slipping back over his face.

"This is my table." The teenage Dark Lord spoke softly, his voice low and calm and it wouldn't take a genius to hear the danger in his voice . Anyone else would have scurried away in fear and never come near him again but Harry Potter never had been and never would be a coward.

And despite everything, at that moment Riddle was nothing more than an ambitious teenager.

"Oh?" He asked instead before picking up his spoon and scooping up some of the slop, watching with distaste in those jade eyes as it dropped back onto his plate in a sticky mess and all the while watching the future Dark Lord out of the corner of his eye, feeling slightly satisfied at the annoyance that one word created.

"Yes. So move." Harry merely gazed at him, unaffected and with what he hoped was an unimpressed expression.

"I didn't realise this _table _had your name on it." He empathised the word, showing just how stupid and petty he thought the argument was and had to stop the grin that wanted to spread across his face at the look he was currently being shot by the teenage dark wizard. Suddenly Harry got the impression that Riddle was just barely restraining himself from shooting a _crucio _at him.

Whatever inner turmoil Riddle was going through he managed to avoid acting on it. Instead he stiffly took a seat and Harry watched with slight amusement as the future dark lord sat down as far from him as possible, his anger evident. Both ignored the other and Harry started to eat what was on his plate with no amount of pleasure. He wouldn't have even bothered _touching_ it if he didn't need some food in him to survive.

As soon as he had finished he left, deciding to wander round a bit and figure out his bearings. Walking around, he discovered a lounge area with a small radio device and couches, the back door which led to a rather large garden and swing-set as well as learning that all the children's rooms were on the second floor. He also discovered there was a library which was by far the most interesting aspect. Not that it was very big or contained that many books but it was something for him to do to pass the time before he figured out what to do from here.

Heading back to his room Harry was struck with the strangest sense of excitement. Something he hadn't felt for _years_ and figured it might just be because for once, he didn't know what the next day would hold.

Once he was sat on his bed Harry thought about the latest turn of events. That was why the name of the orphanage had seemed so familiar. It was the one that Voldemort had attended and Harry was confused about how he should feel at that.

This was Voldemort- the man who had made it his personal mission to make Harry's lives miserable and yet, Harry could feel nothing towards him. He'd defeated him more than once and Voldemort had become nothing more than a constant in his lives. An insane and powerful man that lusted for control and power and Harry eventually came to the realisation that it was just who he _was. _

Harry could no longer see the world in just black and white and after so many years of fighting against the Dark Lord he had began to accept that it was just how things worked. And that, although you'd be insane to call Voldemort _good _or anything of the sort, Harry couldn't fault him either. Tom Riddle hadn't exactly had a _happy _life or a good experience with anything non magical.

There was also the fact that Harry had lived for so long now and lost so much that it was hard to _care. _Hard to feel like he once did. Everything would be only be undone anyway and, eventually, he stopped pretending.

Though from his short meeting with the Dark Lord to be Harry did notice that his scar hurt even more around the teenager. For some reason, since his arrival in the past, his scar had constantly been causing him a dull pain though it had yet to bleed again. It was nothing he couldn't handle but it did beg the question as to _why? _Maybe it was the horcrux. Maybe it was something else entirely but one thing was certain:

Things had finally gotten interesting.

* * *

A/N: Wow that was tedious. Not much interaction yet- between anyone- but I should get to that soon thank God.


	3. Chapter 3

**What Do We Fight For?**

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter never has been and, to my distress, never will be mine…

**A/N: **Wow… Thank you so much for all the favourites, follows and reviews. That was more than I ever could have expected.

Sorry about the long wait. I am currently coming up to exams so I've had little time to spare for writing. More accurately the time I have had spare from studying and working I've spent doing other things because, you know, life.

Anyway, next chapter…

**People fear death even more than pain. It's strange that they fear death. Life hurts a lot more than death. At the point of death, the pain is over. Yeah, I guess it is a friend. **~Jim Morrison

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

_He was back again. In his first life towards the end, the final minutes of his life. _

_He was running, his breath coming out in pants and his forehead dripping with perspiration as he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Finally he made it to the run-down shack that he and Ginny- his wife- had been hiding in. They'd managed to last five months before the muggles found them. Muggles. He almost laughed. Running from muggles, how ironic was that? _

_If Voldemort could somehow see them now Harry was sure he was laughing._

_Little over 4 years ago war broke out between muggles and magical beings. They might have had magic at their disposal but the muggles outnumbered them in masses. First they would capture any being that wasn't perfectly 'normal' and experiment on them, finding their strengths and weaknesses- what made them 'tick'- and trying to see if they could take their powers for their own. Then came the murdering. There was no mercy on either side as the war progressed but they soon lost, in all reality, they had never really had a chance at winning. Now it was just the straggles of wizards and witches left to hide and run for survival. _

_Everyone Harry once knew was dead with the exception of his wife. He'd even watched as his children were murdered in front of him: something that he could never rid his mind of. Thinking back on it, he and Ginny had done relatively well, managing to stay hidden for several years even if they could never truly relax. But it seemed their luck had come to an end. _

_Something was wrong with the shack, he realised as he got closer and the smell of burning filled his nose. Panic gripped at him as he saw the flames soar high and engulf the shelter. Ginny! She was his only thought as he rushed into the flames, his mind not registering the pain as the flames viciously attacked him. He barely got very far before he became blind, the smoke was too heavy and it obscured his vision. With a cry filled with emotion he collapsed, his shout signalling everything he couldn't say. _

_Despair, hopelessness, anger, hatred, pain, grief. _

_As he hit the ground however he felt something near him. Focusing his magical core he managed to create a small bubble of space, cleared of smoke. His wand had long since been taken and broken. What he saw however made him scream in grief and rage. For there was Ginny, her lifeless corpse barely recognisable in it's twisted and deformed state, burnt to crisp. _

_Alight with furious anger at the muggles who had taken everything from him he apparated, managing to appear just behind the group of ten muggles who were all staring at the burning shack, an expression of victory and glee on their repugnant faces. _

_Viciously and without warning, Harry attacked, using only his knife and gun and the occasional wandless magic. He managed to take them all out but then more came, but he never stopped fighting, never gave in. But his old bones were worn and strained, he'd lived for 123 years after all and it was catching up to him. _

_As he prepared to swipe his knife at yet another muggle, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest and he paused, glancing down to see a red patch spread over his torn shirt. He blinked, not quite comprehending what had happened before he fell to the ground. The last thing he saw was the muggles triumphant face and his last though was that he'd finally be with everyone again. Then he slipped into darkness..._

Harry gasped and shot up in bed. That was the first time he'd had a nightmare since... well it had been a while, in fact he could barely remember anything of most of his lives. That day just seemed to stay with him though, tormenting his thoughts occasionally and a constant reminder of why the muggles should _never _learn of them. A constant reminder of a burning hatred that had eventually fizzled out into indifference.

It was a Sunday and Harry soon heard several loud thumps to the door of the bedroom. The sound of a fist against wood caused him to flash his glazed eyes in the direction of the noise and chase away the remnants of his nightmare.

Once downstairs and with a plate of toast and milk, Harry noticed Riddle already seated at 'his' table and a twisted sort of grin spread across his face. Balancing the food and glass on his tray he started to make his way over there, enjoying the way Riddle's posture tensed the moment he noticed Harry.

Ignoring the fact that the Dark Lord-To-Be clearly didn't want him there, Harry plonked himself down on the stool opposite. Whatever reaction he was hoping for however, he didn't get- as other than the earlier stiffness, Riddle showed no outward signs of acknowledging his presence.

Humming quietly to himself in the hope that it would annoy the other boy, Harry took a massive bite out of toast that was lacking in flavour save for the crisp taste of burnt bread and continued to chew- all the while gazing at Riddle through half lidded eyes.

Still there was no reaction and the teenage Dark Lord merely carried on eating his breakfast calmly- acting as though Harry wasn't even there.

Deciding that that wouldn't do at all Harry finally decided to say something.

"Hi." Was the only word that escaped his mouth but other than a slight tensing of the shoulders, Riddle continued to stare down at his food, one hand curled tightly around a glass containing water.

"How's life?"

Still no reply.

Harry shrugged, opening his mouth once more in the hopes of triggering some kind of response. Before he could however he was paused by a soft voice saying his name.

Glancing to the side Harry took in the sight of the young woman standing there- offering her a lazy lopsided grin that felt miles from his eyes.

Martha smiled kindly back at him. "We will be heading off to church in about fifteen minutes Harry. Some clothes have been put on your bed for you to change into."

Church?

As Martha turned to leave Harry called out to her. "Wait." She did, coming closer to him expectantly. "What if I don't want to go?"

Martha blinked a few times, as though she was unable to fathom why Harry might not want to. "Of course you do Harry." Was all she could say, a small frown creasing between her brows.

"No, I really don't."

At this a strained smile took over her features, "I'm sorry but you have no choice Harry. Please be ready in fifteen minutes."

Then she left, with Harry scowling slightly at her back. Deciding that it was up to him in the end- Harry turned back to his table only to find Riddle staring shamelessly at him through sharp eyes.

"Finally find something more interesting than your tray?" He couldn't help but ask emotionlessly and Riddle only raised a single eyebrow in response.

Then Harry's gaze turned curious, "Do you go to church?" He asked though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer. Somehow, he couldn't quite imagine a young Voldemort sitting in church uttering prayers and listening to the droning voice of a priest.

Confirming his suspicions the young Dark Lord scoffed and Harry could only take that as a no.

"So… What's your name?"

Riddle paused in eating, gazing at Harry thoughtfully through curious black eyes for a few seconds before replying. "Tom Riddle." His voice was soft- barely a whisper and yet at the same time, it was as though he had shouted it.

"Harry Potter." Harry watched for any signs of recognition at the pureblood name but received none, Riddle's face remaining perfectly still- sculptured from stone.

And that was that. Not another word was spoken and both went their separate ways once breakfast was done with.

* * *

Upon entering the room he was staying in Harry noticed the slightly smarter clothes laid out for him and simply stared at then for a brief second. Was it _really_ compulsory to go to church?

Harry decided that he didn't care. Why would he dress up and pray to something that he didn't believe was there? And if there was a God? Well Harry had decided a long time ago that he was cruel.

And why did his head _hurt? _His scar to be precise but _why? _He had assumed it would disappear, fade away after a while and yet it was still there. A constant pain, a consistent pressure as though the soul inside was trying to escape.

Harry watched from a storage room window as all the members of the orphanage left for church save for him and Riddle- though Harry had no clue as to the whereabouts of the other wizard.

Once the group of muggles had disappeared from view, Harry made his way downstairs to the front door. Not a sound reached his ears save for the slight creak of the floorboards from the pressure of his weight and Harry began to doubt Riddle was even in the orphanage.

Reaching the exit he half heartedly tried the handle to find that it was (unsurprisingly) locked- and, glancing over his shoulder just _incase _Riddle was still there, Harry focused once more on his magic. Feeling it travel underneath his skin through his fingertips and into the lock. Bending it to his will until a small, barely audible '_click' _was heard.

Now that he was out Harry had to wonder why he was even bothering. Because what could he do? Where could he go? The previous weeks had shown him that he couldn't simply remain on the streets and he had no birth certificate, to record, no proof of any kind that he existed in this world because he _didn't. _

Staring at the floor Harry wished, not for the first time, that he had died when the muggles had caught up to him. He had been _ready. _Prepared… _happy _even because he hadn't been in a world he had wanted to live in. But then he had woken up and had to do it all over again. At first he had thought it was a gift- a chance to get things right but it happened _again. _The wizarding world didn't _listen. _It didn't matter that he was Harry Potter and had killed the Dark Lord. His voice just wasn't enough in the end. The wizarding world didn't _believe _him enough when he said that the muggles were deadly- that they needed to make extra precautions to avoid discovery. And his history had repeated.

Harry wasn't sure how long he simply stood there, eyes cast down and tracing the cracks in the concrete but it was long enough for Riddle to come back from… wherever it was he had disappeared to.

The teenager paused for a millisecond when he saw Harry, taking in his unmoving figure and the open door behind him.

Looking up when a shadow fell across him Harry observed Riddle, the too bright sun outlining him as though he was some kind of angel, a stark contrast to pitch black hair and dark eyes, a perfect lie.

"What are you doing?" Even his voice sounded alluring; a charming smile bewitching and deceptive. Cleverly hiding the deceit and darkness inside. So opposite from Harry who could rarely be bothered to put on an act anymore unless he needed to.

Thinking back to the question Harry could't help but ask himself the same thing. What _was _he doing? What had been his intentions when he opened the door? Had he even had any?

"I don't know." He answered truthfully he eyes glazing over as though in another world: staring straight through the wizard before him.

He didn't even notice the way Riddle's eyes sharpened almost curiously.

The teenage wizard glanced down the street for a few seconds, a contemplating look on his face before turning back to Harry. There was an unreadable look in his eye that Harry was almost certain didn't bode well for him however he stayed perfectly still, slightly interested as to what was running through Riddle's head.

Suddenly he felt his tiny wrist being seized by a harsh grasp and he had barely registered what was happening before he was being dragged back inside the orphanage, the tips of Riddle's nails digging sharply into his skin and bringing a sudden surge of pain to his scar. He could have tried to escape and he could have fought back… but he didn't.

Instead his expression remained blank if slightly inquisitive as he was dragged into a small side room and if Riddle noticed the lack of resistance he didn't comment on it.

As quickly as it had come the grip on his wrist disappeared and Harry found himself staring into the sinister eyes of Tom Riddle- whose lips had titled up slightly into a malevolent smirk.

"I want to make one thing clear." He started, his voice quiet and deadly as he stared coldly at Harry, "You are not to sit near me and you are not to even _speak _to me."

However unaffected by Riddle's words he was, Harry could _feel _the pure magic in the air. Swirling around them menacingly, _pushing. _A different form of the_ imperious _curse_. _It was a command- an order enforced by magic and Harry knew it would be suspicious if he remained impervious to it. Then again Harry decided that maybe he _wanted _to raise suspicion. Create a bit of excitement in what was otherwise going to be a very dull experience.

And so Harry merely tilted his head to the side, eyes staring smugly into Riddle's. "No." He said simply, observing the slight shock that flitted through the black orbs followed by an intense scrutiny as they searched his own. Suspicious, _curious. _Because how could a six year old muggle resist the practised, strong compulsion from Riddle's magic.

And the game began.

"No?" Riddle repeated slowly though Harry noted his voice was more bemused than angry.

Harry didn't answer, choosing instead to smile slightly. As though he hadn't just completely ignored something he shouldn't have been able to; brushed it off as though it was nothing.

"How..?" Riddle mused softly, the word whispered almost to himself. But before anything else could happen the sound of the main door opening and the shrill chattering of orphans reached their ears.

Shaking himself out of whatever inner debate he was going through, Riddle gazed intensely at him, "We're not finished." He said simply. Then he merely turned and left- casting one more darkly curious glance at Harry before leaving the small wizard standing alone, wondering to himself about what had just happened.

* * *

Later that day Harry found himself sitting on the wooden windowsill looking out into the back garden. The sun was high up in the sky by now and most of the orphans were out enjoying the heat. _Had he ever been like that? _Harry couldn't help but ask himself as he scrutinised the teenagers and children laughing and playing together. Had he ever been that carefree? Maybe once, in a distant life that had almost faded to nothing. Maybe there had been times like that with a certain redhead and a brunette who's lives had once meant so much to him.

Whatever the case he could only watch with a mixture of boredom and wonder. Wonder because he had lost the capability to understand how people could go about such trivial things without a care in the world. Didn't they see that they were _nothing. _That in the end they were merely a speck of dust. And yet they didn't even _try _to add some meaning in their life. To become something greater.

But above all Harry supposed he was envious.

Turning his gaze away he let his eyes trail absently around the bedroom, searching for something, _anything _to occupy his time with. Then his hand lifted slowly to his forehead, fingers pressing gently into his scar.

An idea came to him then.

He suspected that the pain has something to do with the fact that the soul piece inside of him already _existed _and had now come in contact, technically, with itself. Whatever the case, two of one thing existed at the same time and he couldn't imagine that that was a good thing.

Knowledge wise he was limited in that area however and the only way that was going to change was by research- research he was not going to gain by sitting in the bedroom doing nothing.

Mind made up Harry debated the risks of apparating. While it would be a much easier method of getting to the Leaky Cauldron- it was also more taxing as despite everything- he was still in a six year old body whose magical core had yet to be fully developed.

After all: the only thing he retained from being reborn was his _memory. _His thoughts, his intelligence- but everything else started from scratch. He might have more control over his magic, he might be able to focus more but that came from knowledge and experience. It was frustrating but unavoidable and it's wasn't like he had long to wait. 5, 10 years was nothing to him anymore.

Deciding that in the end, apparating was the most efficient method, Harry turned on the spot and disappeared with a small '_crack'. _Leaving behind not a single trace.

* * *

**A/N: **Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Any questions or suggestions please review or PM xx


	4. Chapter 4

**What Do We Fight For?**

**Disclaimer:** No, my wishes have not come true, therefore Harry Potter still doesn't belong to me...

A/N:Thank you so much for reviews, follows and favourites. This will likely be the last update for several weeks as exams start in just over a week. But who knows? I wrote this while I was supposed to be working so anything could happen.

Not much happening in this chapter. Still, hope you enjoy it. Chapters have been rather short but I can try and make them longer if that's what people want... Maybe around 5K? They would probably be filled with more detail though and therefore take longer to write. Might be better, might be worse, might not make a difference. Up to you.

* * *

_Chapter 4:_

In the early hours of the afternoon a scrawny boy with gravity defying hair appeared in the apparition point present in Diagon Alley, his petite figure slinking immediately and automatically into the shadows cast by the walls.

Harry took several minutes just watching- observing the alley and all that was different. Not much was. His eyes were then inescapably drawn to Ollivanders wand shop, longing stirring up within him. Oh how he yearned to go and get his wand. But was it really wise to? Deciding he would think more on it later Harry turned around and almost froze at the sight of Riddle striding confidently down the street. It was busy, and he was small so Harry felt fairly confident he wouldn't be seen. However he entertained the thought of following the wizard. Before he could really make up his mind Riddle had vanished into the crowd and Harry realised it was pointless trying to find him.

Deciding to do what he came here for, Harry went in search of a bookshop.

'Flourish &amp; Blotts', it seemed, was still there in the 40's, and Harry eagerly entered the bookstore to be greeted with the familiar site of shelves upon shelves stacked up to the ceiling with books. The musty odour of the aged books combining with the fresh ink on crisp pages of more recent ones.

Now where did he start?

He wasn't even entirely certain what he was looking for let alone where to find it.

A collection of books. Random or otherwise seemed the best option. If it seemed like it might just contain _something _important. A _sentence _that would shred some light on his situation.

It could be an overreaction… It could mean nothing. But that didn't mean Harry wasn't _curious._

Maybe he could also research more into time travel. The thought _had _crossed his mind of simply making sure he was never born. Whether that meant killing one of his ancestors or interfering by some other means and it _was _a tempting thought but then... paradox. Harry had no clue what that might do. Because if he hadn't been born he could never have gone back in time, never have prevented himself from existing. And maybe that would only make things worse. He couldn't be sure and while he was all for taking risks... it was _too _large of a risk to take.

'_Bonds &amp; Oaths' _was the section Harry eventually found himself in. Eyes scanning the titles, flickering from the binds of each for something, _anything. _Then he felt a presence behind him… no- two. Shadows cast over the shelves as they obscured the bright lighting.

Turning he saw two aristocratic teenage boys with sharp features, black and blonde, standing by the opposite shelf. Onyx eyes caught him staring- a sneer twisting his handsome features, disdain consuming his face, "What are you staring at Mudblood!"

Harry merely blinked his eyes a couple of times, gazing at the boy with an almost curious look on his face before turning back to the bookshelves, ignoring them completely, already knowing everything he needed to. Purebloods. Rich and Spoilt. Thinking themselves bigger than they truly were.

And clearly not used to being ignored.

Seconds past before Harry was grabbed roughly by the shoulders. Clammy hands gripping into his skin, tearing at the weak fabric. "Careful." Harry said slowly, eyeing the hand with both disinterest and contempt. "You might catch something." It was an insult to himself, he knew that. But the blonde haired teenager instantly let go, dull blue eyes flashing with disgust and Harry didn't remotely care that he had mocked himself- because he had achieved what he wanted.

Instead the wizard who seemed rather dense crossed his arms in a manner that he supposed was meant to be intimidating. Harry thought he looked more like a petulant child. Maybe he would start to throw a tantrum if he didn't get what he wanted.

"He asked you a question Mudblood!"

This time, he stared unnervingly at them. Didn't they know the word lost its enmity if it was just thrown about so often and carelessly. "I was staring at the books." He answered, his voice coming out bored and disinterested, lacking any sort of misery or anger at being accused of having 'dirty blood'.

The blond one- who Harry guessed was more muscle than brains- took a threatening step forward. The larger body towering over his skinny one. Harry wondered if he knew how pathetic he looked- picking on a child 3 times smaller. At least to everyone else's point of view.

"I bet you think you're so smart." The teenager spat, staring down at Harry malevolently. Yet he noticed the other boy refrained from contact of any kind, Harry could have laughed.

So he did.

Both paused, expression changing to one of slight bewilderment as his light laughter reached their ears. Filled with amusement and something else they couldn't identify. Something darker.

After a brief moment where Harry and the muscle simply stared at each other- Harry with a slight grin on his face and the other with an expression that clearly showed he thought Harry might be insane- there was a sigh of irritation from behind them. Both switched their gaze to the tall boy standing there with an annoyed air about him as he gazed on disapprovingly.

"Dolohov, quit with the frivolous inanity already. Surely you don't want to be late. You should know how he hates to be kept waiting- especially after last time." There was an almost panic in those last words though it was hidden well and his smooth face remained uncaring and emotionless. It could have just been any passing statement but the effect on Dolohov was instantaneous. His face paled considerably, eyes betraying slight fear for a moment before his face was once again blank although the dread in his eyes did not dissipate.

"You're right of course Lestrange." He drawled calmly. Then he turned to Harry, who had just picked a book of the shelf and sneered, grabbing the book out of Harry's hand before practically shoving the it back at his small figure for some unknown reason. It would have likely hit him in the face had his seeker reflexes not acted up and caught it before it could do so.

Then they were gone, leaving Harry clutching the book in his arms and wondering just what they were up to. Deciding it was none of his concern he gazed at the paper and ink in is hands, debating if he could possibly hide it in the rags that dared to be called clothes. Realising that no, he couldn't, he furrowed his eyebrows. Focusing on his magic. Taking control. It wasn't even particularly hard in the end. After all- accidental magic could do so much more… he just had to try and make it not so accidental.

Watching as the dark blue book shrank and condensed until it was a much more manageable size, Harry shoved it in one of his pockets before walking casually out of the door. No one the wiser.

* * *

Half an hour later, as he was slowly ambling down the bustling street, his eyes were unwittingly drawn to the part of the alley that seemed to be shrouded in shadows, the dark and foreboding tunnel void of people and a far cry from the busy, lively climate of Diagon Alley.

He paused, considering. For all the time he had spent here, which was admittedly not much, he only had one book to show for it. Topics on souls, time travel and horcuxes? Well they were decidedly more dark than light meaning that if he wanted to find more precise information on the subjects, Knockturn Alley would be the place to go.

Slipping into the shadows he was, for once, grateful for his small body as it allowed him to go unnoticed as he stealthily slid into the alley.

As soon as he had entered he could feel the difference, the shift in atmosphere. Diagon Alley felt bright and cheerful, filled with talkative people as they went about their business without a care in the world. In contrast, Knockturn Alley was filled with a sense of uneasiness and apprehension, the constant worry that what was lurking silently in the shadows would leap out at you; seize your soul as they ripped your heart out and tore it to shreds. It was not a place for the weak, and most certainly not a place for a six-year-old child.

Harry knew he might be targeted which was why he stuck to the darkness of the walls, taking comfort in the obscurity they offered that he knew hid him from most creatures roaming around these parts. Not that he was afraid, because despite the deceptiveness of his appearance he _wasn't _a six year old boy- however no one else would know that. They would expect him to be more or less powerless because of his age. An easy target. And he would rather avoid any conflict if he could.

His eyes landed finally on his destination although he couldn't say that he had had a particular place in mind, and he soundlessly swept inside the shop. He was greeted by a dim store, lit only by everlasting candles that cast an eerie glow over the room. The delicious scent of dark magic filled his nostrils and he breathed in sharply, eyes fluttering for a second as he swayed on the spot before briskly composing himself. Now wasn't the time to indulge in the pleasure of the darker side of magic. Who knew what it might do to him.

As he walked further into the store he took in the surroundings. There were glass cases containing all manner of objects, oddly shaped items that despite the innocent look they might portray, he knew were anything but. He walked past a gadget that would, according to the description, produced a gas that would send whoever breathed it in into an uncontrollable nightmare. Stuck in their worst fears and suffering through agony as though they were real for what felt like 4 months but was in actual fact only a day. Then there were stacks of the more rarer and... disturbing potion ingredients that couldn't be purchased at your regular, cheery apothecary. Soon he came to the part that he was truly interested in however: The books.

Only one row of books stood in the corner, almost hidden by the darkness that consumed the crook with merely two shelves, but Harry knew the books were priceless... Or, at least, _very_ expensive. Prices he couldn't hope to afford without his vaults glared up at him from their tantalising tags as the books lay perfectly still. Despite unmoving, the covers seemed to taunt him, as if screaming up at him in smugness, though how a book could be smug he didn't know.

Suddenly he froze, his eyes coming to rest on an extremely old-looking book, the colour long faded with the title barely readable. Squinting at the cover however he could just make out the words: _"Soul bonds.' _It could be perfect_,_ or could be useless. He needed it, yet he couldn't hope to gain it.

Not with money at least. Casting his eyes up to the still empty counter briefly, he reached out to grab the book, his hands only inches from it's mocking cover before the sound of the door opening caused him to jerk his hand back. Risking a glance at the person who had entered he, once again, found himself frozen, this time with a small stirring of panic as he watched a tall, handsome Tom Riddle walk casually into the store. _He just couldn't catch a break could he?_

* * *

"M'Lord."

"You're late."

Lestrange and Dolohov both audibly gulped, eyes flitting nervously around the small room they'd borrowed in a shady inn near the entrance/exit of Knockturn. Everyone else was already there and staring at them with a mixture of pity, glee and excitement.

"My apologies M'Lord." Lestrange said smoothly, falling gracefully down to his knees. He was soon followed by Dolohov only less elegantly as his heavy weight caused a dull 'thud' to resonate around the room.

"We got..." He hesitated and Lord Voldemort raised an eyebrow, observing the two before him with their heads bowed in submission.

"You got what Lestrange? Please do finish your sentences."

Another gulp, "_Held back M'Lord."

The Dark Lord hummed thoughtfully, "And pray tell me, what you felt was more important than arriving to my meeting on time?" The question was asked casually and had they not known what their Lord was like, they would have allowed themselves to relax. As it were however, they both tensed instead.

It was Dolohov who answered this time though, "By a _Mudblood_ My Lord." He sneered and Lestrange held his breath, inwardly cursing Dolohov and his Gryffindor mouth.

"So you're telling me," Their Lords voice was dangerously low and most of them could feel the dark magic crackling in the air around them, tensing and suffocating, preparing to strike. "That the reason you are late to _my_ meeting, is because of something as insignificant and worthless as a _Mudblood?"_

Both of the cowering teenagers stayed silent, not daring to speak for fear of his wrath.

They got it anyway. _"Answer me!"_ The words were practically hissed and both recoiled in fear, eyes fixed on the floor in a desperate attempt to make themselves inconspicuous.

"Y-Yes My Lord." Dolohov whimpered. No sooner had the words left his mouth than they heard the dreaded word everyone had been waiting for:

_"Crucio."_ It was said so casually, so disinterestedly that one might have thought he was discussing the weather and not torturing two teenage boys.

Agony filled screams then swamped the room, echoing round while filling the more sadistic members with a sense of thrill and would have undoubtedly been heard by the other occupants of the inn if not for the silencing wards placed around them. The curse was kept on for a full minute before it was released.

"Get up."

Both boys did so without a protest, knowing it could have been much worse. They struggled to stand, still shaking from the after effects of the curse and found themselves leaning against the wall for support. No one helped them. Here, in the confinement of the room at their Lord's feet… it was every man for himself.

Just when they thought they were free, the Dark Lord turned to Dolohov thoughtfully, "This is the second time you've been late to one of my meetings. Isn't it Antonin?"

Antonin froze, unwilling to answer and a malevolent smirk twisted up on their Lord's face. "Yes, it seems you didn't learn your lesson the first time." He said, his tone could almost pass for sympathetic if his eyes didn't scream sadistic excitement and danger. "I do not tolerate lateness Dolohov, perhaps it's time you remember that." His voice was ice cold, unforgiving and Dolohov knew he was in for another round of torture.

He wasn't wrong. Curses he'd never heard of before were sent his way while everyone else watched either eagerly, or just thankful that it wasn't them. At one point his flesh was exceedingly slowly peeled away before feeling like it was burned back on, then he was put in a state of nothingness. No sight or smell or touch, he couldn't even hear anything, left in a void of emptiness for what felt like an eternity. He was sure he was screaming, clawing at his own skin if just to _feel _something. Slowly being driven mad before he was finally released from the spell and allowed to stand up although it took all of his resolve to do so, leaning against the wall- unable to stay up without it.

He was ignored for the rest of the meeting, a meeting that mind you, didn't last long. Once it was over and everyone had left, Tom too, exited the inn satisfied with how things had turned out. Even away from Hogwarts he had complete control over most of the Slytherin's. His knights were still as loyal and eager to please as they had been when they'd left. Now Tom only had to hope they would remain competent and not forget everything he had taught them since he'd formed their little group. He wouldn't have insufficient and incapable wizards following and doing tasks for him after all.

They had one year left at Hogwarts. And that thought was both wistful and filled him with gleaming sense of excitement. Once he left he would no longer have so many restrictions on what he could do, where he could go. He could finally start expanding his support group, finally delve deeper into all the possibilities the magic world had to offer. Explore the depths of magic long forgotten or never practiced, never successfully performed. A twisted smile spread across his face.

Leaving the inn he then turned to go further into the Alley, he was owed a certain book...

* * *

**A/N:** Phew, finally finished! I apologise for any mistakes there may have been. I'm not particularly sure when it will pick up... I don't really have a solid plot or much of a plot at all... I'm mainly seeing where it takes me. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

_What Do We Fight For?_

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and everything in them belongs to the wonderful J.K Rowling!

**_WARNING: _ **Slight bit of gore I suppose in this chapter- description of murder

**A/N: **Wow I got this chapter out quick. Only because most of it was already written I just went over and added some extra things. _Slightly _longer chapter but I did want to leave it as it was.

Once again, thank you to all those who reviewed, favourited and followed. It means a lot.

Hope you enjoy the chapter

* * *

**Chapter 5:**

It took all of two seconds for Harry's mind to register what he was seeing and another one for him to swiftly dart behind the nearest display; which happened to be showcasing some sort of different coloured rocks with sharp angles.

Again, he found himself grateful for his small figure as it allowed him to stay hidden from view and he prayed Riddle hadn't already noticed him. For once, it seemed, his prayers had been answered for the other boy simply walked straight up to the counter, showing no outward signs of having seen nor heard him. One pale hand reached out and pressed down on the small bell that was positioned on the old wooden counter, the shrill noise echoing round the store and disturbing the ominous silence that had settled over the room.

After only a minute, the beaded hangings that were dangling behind the stand in the archway were pushed aside, revealing a tall wiry man who's skin was pale and ghostlike, stretching over his bones in such a way causing it to look as if it would rip at any second. His eyes were sunken and the pale lips were pressed together in a thin line. When he saw Tom however, the lips parted in a eerie smile that looked anything but friendly, uncovering blackened and yellow teeth with several gaps. All in all, he would look like he belonged in the morgue if not for the luminous blue eyes that sparkled and shone with wisdom and life.

Riddle leaned closer, saying something to the other man who nodded his head in reply. Then, to Harry's slight alarm, he came out from behind the stall and started walking towards him. What caught Harry's attention however was the fact that he was _silent._ Not a sound was heard from his footsteps or even the natural sound that was breathing. He could have been a ghost if not for his solid form. Suddenly blue eyes met his through the glass and Harry could only stare for a tense moment before those orbs that seemed to penetrate into his soul dismissed him.

Bated breath, preparing for the encounter that never came.

The...Man? Didn't come to where Harry was hiding, instead stopping at the leaning bookcase looking as though it would fall apart at a single touch, and grabbed a book from the shelf. From his position of peering through the misty glass, Harry couldn't yet see the book that had been picked up, and he watched curiously as it was handed to an emotionless Riddle who gripped it almost eagerly in his hands.

Nodding once to the mysterious man, the upcoming Dark Lord simply turned and strode out of the store with the book clutched under his arm. As his back was turned to Harry he was given the full view of the cover of the book and he almost screamed in frustration at the cruelty of the world.

For, peeking out from under Riddle's arm, was the title: _'Soul Bonds'_ as it gazed mockingly at him. Harry's eyes followed after the book as though it had deeply offended him before the door closed between them and it was _gone_. It had been so _close_ as well but of course, it had slipped out of his fingers at the last second because of Tom bloody Riddle.

He signed, resigning himself to the fact that he had lost and moved out from his position, the store was once again, empty. The strange man having disappeared to Merlin knows where.

As Harry dishearteningly made his was through Knockturn Alley he was suddenly stopped when a tall, thin figure stepped out in front of him, causing him to pause and glance up at the man before him. A repugnant face stared down at him, it's mouth twisting into an ugly and uninviting smile at the sight of the small boy. Then, a clammy hand clamped down roughly on Harry's shoulder, starting to steer him in a desired direction.

Not in the mood for any games Harry sneered up at the man, eyes blaring with disdain and distaste, "Get. Off. Me." He said forcefully, keeping his voice quiet so only he could hear.

The man it seemed, either didn't hear the danger in Harry's tone or chose to ignore it as he simply laughed, trailing one stubby finger down Harry's smooth cheek, the ragged nail scraping against the skin and drawing a thin trail of blood. "You're a pretty lil' thing aren't yer'." He almost cooed, his voice coming out raspy and grating as though he hadn't used it in months.

Green eyes stared blankly at him and, if the man had had even a bit of sense, this would have been a clear warning sign, and he would have left then and there. It seemed he was, however, lacking any brain cells or the slightest bit of intelligence for he continued to steer Harry into a smaller alley between two shops, their walls and the Alley's natural darkness shrouding the place in shadows.

Harry's wasn't particularly sure what the man was planning to do but he had a rather good idea of what and his lip cured in disgust. How someone could be reduced to this mess he didn't know, and had he still cared enough he might have felt almost sorry for the man. As it was he felt no pity or sympathy, merely disgusted that the man had sunk so low as to pick on someone he thought was weak, someone who wouldn't stand a chance.

At this, Harry's mouth twisted into a malicious smirk, his eyes glinting. Because, unluckily for the man, he was _not _in a good mood. This caused the grown man to pause, staring at him in confusion for a moment before grinning frightfully at him. "That's right," He said, eyes flashing eagerly, "you'll enjoy this as much as I will."

Before he could so much as move another step however, Harry had shifted so fast the man's slow mind couldn't even follow the movement, and before he could realise what was happening, Harry had whipped the knife from where it was hanging invitingly from the man's belt and slashed one of his knees. Watching as crimson liquid oozed from the wound and the man dropped to the floor in surprise and pain.

Now that they were on a better level, Harry grabbed him by his dirty hair, knife held dangerously close to his carotid artery. For all intents and purposes, the grown man was stronger than Harry's scrawny 6 year old body. However _he _was now the one holding the knife to his throat. _He _was now the one who had all the power.

It seemed the man was at least smart enough to realise this. Muscles tensed and stopped moving, self preservation kicking in as sharp metal dug into soft flesh, a few flecks of scarlet tarnishing the silver.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you." Harry offered, hand playing almost absently with the knife as he drew it lightly, tauntingly, across his skin.

"Please-"

Harry scoffed, "I don't want to hear you beg."

"What do you want?" The man asked desperately, his voice sounding strangled from the effort he took to not move his neck even more into the jagged edge of the knife.

What did he want? Harry took a few seconds to think about that.

Fingers tightened, eyes hardened, then he swiped his arm across in one fluid movement. Severing the carotid artery causing blood to splatter onto the opposite wall. Messy but quick.

Fingers loosened, the knife dropping from his hand. Green eyes stared at the lifeless body, unblinking. How easy it was for a life to end, the fire in their eyes to be extinguished. And as Harry looked at the corpse he had caused, the vile man's life he had ended- he didn't feel satisfied or gleeful, nor did he feel sadness or guilt….he just felt nothing.

* * *

After a few hours of aimlessly walking around Knockturn and having nothing to show for it, Harry resigned himself that he would find no more books on the topic he was searching for there. Turning on the spot he was gone in an instance, reappearing right back in his room. Taking a moment to recover he pressed his palm to his forehead, fingers gently ghosting the lightening bolt scar. Not for the first time Harry wondered how he had been sent back in time. As far as he knew, the lightening should have _killed _him, not displaced him in time. And was it just coincidence that he had arrived in Riddle's era? Harry didn't know what to think.

The sun was still shining brightly in it's position in the sky as Harry sat on his windowsill and pondered what to do now. He wondered why Riddle would have wanted a book on soul bonds in the first place and then kicked himself for his stupidity. The teenage Dark Lord was making horcruxes, of _course _he would be interested in information about souls. Then he reached into his pocket and picked out one of the books he'd gained, enlarging it and staring at the title: _'Magical Bonds'._

Whether of not it would contain something he wanted to know Harry doubted it, and he didn't get his hopes up. Leaning back so he was resting against the wall, legs bent so they were almost touching his chest and feet resting on the ledge, he started to read.

* * *

Almost four hours passed and Harry had successfully skimmed through two of the books. Turning the last page of the third and final one, he threw it against the wall in annoyance. There had been absolutely _nothing_ useful in any of them on soul magic or bonds. He_ really_ should have gone to Knockturn first, then he might have been able to grab that book before Riddle did and, quite frankly, he should have_ known_ there would be nothing detailed about it in the oh so nice and cheerful Diagon Alley!

Then an idea struck him. Riddle might have bought the book but surely he would keep it in his room here at the orphanage? If that was the case, he would only have to wait until Riddle was busy and sneak into his room to search for the tome. Of course that was easier said than done.

It was almost 11pm by the time he had finished and Harry noted distantly that he had missed both lunch and dinner. Though if previous meals had been any indication, they wouldn't have been that enjoyable anyway.

Opening his door slowly Harry peered out into the darkness. Everyone had gone to bed and all was quiet. Exiting and closing the door lightly behind him, Harry made his way downstairs as silently as he could, the floorboards occasionally letting out a quiet 'creak' as his feet made contact with them.

Nothing stirred in the darkness and he found the kitchen without incident.

Unlocking the door with his magic, Harry cautiously entered. He'd never been in the kitchen before now, unless you were a member of staff you were forbidden from entering, and he wasn't entirely sure what to expect.

It was just like any other room, albeit slightly cleaner than the rest of the orphanage which was something at least. Rusty pots and pans hung from racks and shelves and several cabinets were placed about the room along with everything you expected from a kitchen in this era. Not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention, Harry refrained from switching the light on and decided to just make do with the darkness.

Pupils dilated he wandered over to what he assumed was the fridge, watching as a dim light flickered on inside and observing the contents for something he could eat.

Before he had even managed to properly scan everything, a sharp, slightly amused voice called out from behind him. "What are you doing?"

Harry froze for a brief second before slowly turning around and facing Riddle, or more accurately, Riddle's figure, the lack of light making it impossible to see his features.

"Getting food, what are you doing here?" Harry said in a bored tone, as though he didn't know he wasn't supposed to be where he was.

A step closer, "I heard a noise. Naturally I came to investigate." Riddle explained calmly, believably.

Yet somehow, Harry very much doubted that. He noticed that Riddle had slowly but consistently been getting closer until there was now less than a mere metre between them.

Although he was having trouble seeing Riddle's eyes, he could feel their sharp scrutiny and he wondered if the young Dark Lord had better eyesight in the dark than he did.

"How did you get in?" The question was asked softly, curiously.

Harry smirked at his figure which was slowly becoming easier to make out as his eyes adjusted, "Through the door." He said, his tone mocking.

Riddle ignored it, gazing at him with knife-like eyes "The door would have been locked."

"No."

"It's _always _locked."

"Obviously not."

Suddenly the surrounding air seemed to get darker, suffocating as Riddle narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"You're lying."

"_You're_ annoying." Harry retorted, staring up at Riddle with a minuscule smirk on his face.

Lips opened to reply, but before a sound could escape them footsteps were heard from outside and both instantly froze.

Two pairs of eyes flashed in the direction of the door. A door that had been left open.

Riddle turned back to Harry, mouth opening to speak but Harry beat him to it. "Every man for himself!" He grinned and before Riddle could stop him, he had darted underneath the table seconds before Mrs Cole entered the kitchen.

The matron froze when she switched the light on and saw Riddle standing comfortably in the middle of the room, a bored expression upon his face.

"Tom Riddle!" She shrieked, her attention solely on the teenager and completely missing Harry's obvious hiding spot.

"Mrs Cole." He returned dryly and if she heard the blatant distaste in his voice she chose to ignore it.

"And pray tell me what you are doing out of your room at this time. In the kitchen no less."

"I heard a noise and came to find out what it was." He repeated what he had said earlier, earning a suspicious glance from the matron.

"And I don't suppose you found the source of this noise?" She asked in a tone that clearly said she didn't believe him one bit.

"Of course." Tom replied, deciding that if he was going down then that little brat was coming down with him. "He's under the table."

Mrs Cole turned her eyes to the spot under the table, pausing for a few seconds before bringing her gaze back to Tom. "Young man do not tell lies to me," She spat, 'There is no one there." Anger clouded her voice at his blatant attempt to shift the blame and Tom blinked.

Whipping his head round his eyes fell on the empty space where a boy _should have been. _But there was nothing. How…?

"Go back to bed. We will discuss your punishment in the morning." She snapped, clearly not in the mood, and with that Mrs Cole spun on her heels and left. Tom, however, didn't move- instead he stayed perfectly still, staring at same vacant spot because he knew, he _knew _the child had had no where to go.

_So where was he?_

* * *

Sitting on his bed Harry grinned when he thought about what had happened. It had almost been worth not actually ending up with any food for his efforts.

Deciding that he was done for the night, Harry lay back and as soon as his head touched the pillow he was asleep, exhausted from his day that had proved fruitless.

Further down the hall, Riddle sat on his own bed, fingers absently stroking the worn cover of the new book he'd bought. He had thought he had known everything he needed to about horcruxes. But this book was different, this book was _special_. The tome was written in parseltongue and_ that_ attracted Tom's attention more than the title did. After all, it was one of a kind, and to make things better only _he_ could read it making it rightfully _his_. In the end, all knowledge was power.

He could practically taste the dark magic that engulfed the book and was eager to start. To his annoyance however, the volume in his hand would not open. No matter how much and hard he tried to pry it, it stayed firmly shut, taunting him.

_Why wasn't it opening?_ He stared at the cover for a moment, debating on the ways of which he could get it to open. "_Open." _He tried hissing in parseltongue. The book stayed stubbornly still. Unfortunately, his mind stayed blank for once as he was unable to use any magic out of Hogwarts, which was a ludicrous rule in itself so he resigned himself to wait until he got back to the school. Just thinking about Hogwarts made him sigh, he wanted to get out of this loathsome, filthy orphanage as soon as possible but the summers always did seem to drag. However this was his last summer at the orphanage… and then he could leave forever. So he could wait, he was patient.

And now he had another problem to think about. That brat… Harry Potter. He _knew _Potter couldn't have moved when he wasn't looking. He would have heard something and besides, Mrs Cole would have had a perfect view should he have abandoned his rather pathetic hiding spot and yet…

He had been nowhere to be found.

There was also the way Potter had so blatantly ignored his commands earlier as well, combine that with the fact he seemed to be able to get through locked doors… something was off. And Tom resolved to discover what it was because the truth of the matter was…_He should have been there._

* * *

The next morning Harry woke to the sound of knocking on his door and an emptiness in his stomach. Dragging himself out of bed and getting changed into the itchy uniform he then trudged slowly downstairs.

He noticed Riddle wasn't in his usual spot at his table in the far corner, nor was he anywhere else in the room. Completely unconcerned with the other boy's absence, Harry ate his meal alone or at least, he started to before a shadow loomed over him.

It was a boy, around his age who looked around nervously as though expecting Riddle to jump out at any moment. He coughed, eyes flickering with slight alarm. "Mr. Jerome would like to see you in his office." With that said, the brown haired boy immediately scuffled off, obviously eager to get away from him.

Harry sighed, Mr. Jerome was a helper at the orphanage or at least, that was what he'd gathered. The middle-age man had been at the orphanage for about a year now. What he would want with Harry, he had no idea. As far as he had seen, the man was a religious freak, the type Harry hated.

Discarding his untouched breakfast, Harry wandered out the kitchen and down a corridor to a wooden door with a metal plaque on it with the words: 'Mr. Jerome' engraved in silver.

Knocking on the door in a timid manor, he didn't have to wait long before a voice called out from the inside telling him to enter. Arranging his features into a curious yet wary expression, Harry opened the door to find Mr Jerome standing with his arms in front of him by the crackling fire as it spit vicious sparks into the air, clutching what looked to be the Bible in his calloused hands.

"You asked to see me... sir?"

The man turned round, fixing his dim brown eyes on the small boy, "Yes. I wanted to talk to you about something... Someone actually."

Okay, Harry was definitely more wary now and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Now I don't want you to be frightened of telling the truth." Jerome consoled seriously and Harry grew slightly confused. _What was he on about?_

"I assure you, you are safe now."

Harry merely blinked, somewhat dumbfounded.

The strange man seemed to take a deep breath, "What can you tell me about Tom Riddle?"

Silence. That was all that greeted the religious man's strange question. Harry was... confused as loath as he was to admit it. Why on earth was he asking _him_ about Tom Riddle let alone about Riddle himself. Seeing the man still staring expectantly at him Harry cleared his throat. "You'll have to be more specific." He said simply, an air of disinterest around him.

"Has he done anything suspicious?" He pressed, staring deeply at Harry.

"Why would I know?"

Jerome frowned at him, looking slightly disappointed and yet he also looked as though he had expected such a response. "Now now my dear boy. There's no need to fear. I will not let him harm you." Though his words were obviously meant to be consoling, Harry only felt more confusion and the urge to laugh.

Somehow, if Riddle really wanted to hurt him, Harry doubted some crazy old religious man would be able to stop him.

"He won't harm me." _I won't let him._ He thought, keeping his face clueless and innocent.

The man sighed, "Harry, though I hate to be the one to tell you as you seem rather close with Mr. Riddle," Harry almost snorted, apart from the couple of brief interactions that Jerome couldn't possibly know about, the only time he had been in Riddle's presence was at meal times. "I must warn you that he is not what he seems. There's something much darker, much more evil lurking beneath the surface."

Yes, Harry really wanted to burst into laughter but he had a feeling it wouldn't go down well with the other man and kept his features straight.

"Now, can you do something for me Harry?"

Harry only stared.

"I want you to keep an eye on him, tell me anything of use. I do not want you getting fooled by the devil's trickery after all." He warned and as Harry left, he wondered if the man meant it in a figurative way or if he really believed Riddle was somehow Satan himself.

He wouldn't be surprised if he did.

Just before Harry was about to enter his room he found himself pausing, hand inches away from the door handle. Slowly, almost unwillingly, he turned his head, eyes settling on the closed door at the end of the hall that practically screamed _'Keep out or else...'_

He really shouldn't, after all, he had no clue how long Riddle would be gone for or what time he would be getting back but he was so tempted. What were the chances the book was still in his room? Somehow, Harry doubted the book would be well hidden if it was hidden at all as he found it likely that Riddle wouldn't even think of the option that someone might dare enter his room. Arrogance always was his weakness.

Biting his lip, Harry considered, who knows? Perhaps he would even be able to read it and then put it back before the future Dark Lord arrived back at the orphanage and leave him none the wiser. Coming to a decision, Harry started stalking towards Riddles door. The atmosphere seemingly getting colder and colder with every step he took if that were possible.

Tying the door handle he found to no surprise, that it was locked. Not that that would stop him. Focusing his magic he pushed it towards his hand, feeling as it travelled from his core and down his arm, the magic surging through leaving a trail of sparks before finally reaching his palm and shooting out at the lock. There was a barely audible click and the door was unlocked, as easily as that.

Pushing the door gradually open Harry then took the step that brought him into Tom Riddle's room. Time to start searching.

* * *

**A/N: **Another chapter finished, hope you enjoyed it. Next chapter should be up… at some point. I really don't know when. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**What Do We Fight For?**

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and everything in them belongs to the wonderful J.K Rowling!

**A/N: **Sorry for the wait, and thank you to all those that fav/followed/reviewed. Exams are over... I can't quite believe it but they are.

If anyone is wondering whether this will be a slash between Harry and Tom I am not yet sure... For obvious reasons, at the moment I just can't see it happening but I might make it so in the future. If it does turn into a slash however it obviously won't be the main aspect of this fan fiction as this is mainly focusing on the sort of friendship between the two characters and a slash won't be happening anytime in the near future as Harry is well, six.

* * *

**Chapter 6: **

Once inside, Harry swiftly closed the door behind him. No need for anyone to see the open door and investigate. Riddle's room was... Spotless. It seemed tidier than Harry's own room and he owned next to nothing... in fact, the only thing he owned at this current moment in time was his uniform and even then, he wouldn't really call that _his. _

Not wanting to be in there for any longer than he could help, Harry began his search, hoping to find the book as soon as possible and leave before Riddle got back. It didn't take long. Almost immediately Harry spotted a book lying innocently on the stand next to Riddle's bed and he wasn't sure whether to be suspicious or not. The title: '_Soul Bonds,' _was staring up at him, just inviting him to take it. Maybe it was too easy but Harry suspected it was more to do with the fact that Riddle didn't _believe _anyone would enter his room.

Reaching down and cautiously grasping the book in his hands he grinned triumphantly. The moment was soon ruined however for just then, the door shot open and a furious Riddle was staring directly at him.

"_What _are you doing in _my room!?" _

Harry took the split second he had to hide the book behind his back. Riddle sounded absolutely beside himself with rage and shock and Harry had a feeling he wouldn't be able to get out of this.

Standing up straighter Harry didn't reply, just stared at Riddle with an innocent expression on his face.

"_Answer me." _

Harry offered the other boy a shrug, his focus on the book clutched in his hands that was currently hidden from Riddle's view though he knew it was only a matter of time. As if hearing his thoughts Riddle paused, eyeing the spot where his arms disappeared. "What are you hiding?" Suspicion and anger laced his voice and magic crackled around them, dangerous and wild yet at the same time restrained and cool.

"This." Harry whipped the book out from behind and Riddle was granted full view to the cover. A cover that was disillusioned to show nothing more than the title to a fairytale book.

Riddle paused, frowning in slight confusion and Harry flashed him a fake smile. "Who knew the great Tom Riddle liked to read _fairytales _in his spare time."

"That's not mine." Riddle replied simply, his face strangely blank as he stared at the book.

Harry only responded with a bored shrug, mind racing as he came up with ideas. "I saw someone leaving your room." Was all he said, staring intensely at Riddle even as his scar started to sting painfully.

Riddle was immediately alert, eyes sharpening, "Who?" He asked forcefully, when Harry didn't immediately reply he took a step closer, "_Who?" _He repeated, eyes just daring Harry to ignore him.

Harry only raised an eyebrow, "I don't know their name."

"Well what did they _look _like?" Riddle demanded, voice impatient.

Taking a moment to consider Harry ended up shrugging once again, "Average."

Riddle stared at him in frustration, as though he couldn't quiet believe someone could be so… odd.

"Get out." He said quietly and Harry paused, wondering if the teenager was joking or not. Seeing that Harry had not so much as moved a muscle Tom snapped his eyes to Harry's, "Get _out. _And if you _ever _come into my room again I will slowly peel your flesh off of your bones and turn you into _soup." _

Lips curling upwards slightly at the threat, Harry walked purposely slowly to the door aware of the dark eyes that followed his every move. Once he was back in his own room Harry stared at the book in his hands and allowed the illusion to fall away, a slight grin on his face. The grin dropped however when he went to open the book and _nothing happened, _insteadhis hands just pried uselessly at the cover that refused to budge.

Frowning and wondering if Riddle had cast some kind of locking charm on it Harry wished badly that he could be in a mature body and had a wand. Maybe then he could actually work on undoing whatever magic had been placed upon the ancient tome. As it was he felt practically useless.

Glaring at the cover he tried speaking at it in parseltongue as the idea came to him but nothing.

_Stupid magical books! _Muggle books didn't have these problems. Why wouldn't it open? What did it _want!?_

Huffing in frustration Harry stood up and dropped the offensive object carelessly on the wooden top. His thoughts then drifted, it was a new, probably boring day and he decided that he couldn't just sit there however he also realised that he wouldn't be able to simply leave the book lying around in case Riddle came searching for it.

And so Harry dropped to his knees, fingers feeling for even a slightly loose floorboard and when one sank somewhat from the pressure, he attempted to pry it up. Sending a burst of magic to his fingers when the muggle method failed to have any effect apart from breaking the skin around his nails, and Harry managed to successfully slip the book under. He then replaced the wood, leaving the tiniest of scratches from his fingernail to avoid having to dig up his entire floor later.

* * *

It was when he entered the dining room that he noticed it. At first glance, there wasn't really anything off, save for the empty corner of the room that occupied only one person but as soon as Harry's eyes fell on another table he saw it.

Mr Jerome sat on his chair, to all the world looking calm and normal as he held an open bible in his hands, but upon closer inspection Harry realised that while his hands were turning the pages every so often, his eyes were miles away from the words on the page.

Instead they were staring right at Riddle.

Harry could remember his meeting with the man but this time there was something extra in his gaze… something more than the look of a man who believed Tom to be the embodiment of all things evil and suddenly Harry just _knew _he was hiding something. Because not only did his eyes hold a hundred secrets, but the bible he was holding in hands that _didn't_ grasp it with devotion or reverence… was completely unmarred, new, pages unturned.

Green eyes narrowed suspiciously and as though he had felt the burning gaze Jerome turned his head towards Harry, cool brown eyes catching his. Upon seeing who it was the man smiled benevolently at him and yet Harry instincts screamed at him that it was fake_. _Everything about this man was _fake_ and suddenly Harry got the distinct impression that he should not, under any circumstances, underestimate him.

A pale hand then beckoned Harry to him, momentarily leaving the pristine looking bible and Harry started a slow walk toward him, mind calculating. He had to act as though everything was normal, he realised. He could not tip the man that he suspected him of… _something. _Not unless Harry wished to lose that advantage.

"Harry." Jerome said softly once he was a few feet away from the table, an amiable look upon his face. "Care to join me?"

"Not really." Came his blunt reply.

Jerome blinked, a small frown creasing between his eyebrows and his mouth opened once more. Before he could utter another word however, Harry spoke, effectively cutting off whatever he was about to say. "Was there a reason you want to see me? Sir?"

"I-," His eyes briefly glanced in Riddle's direction and, following his gaze, Harry saw said boy staring intensely at them, an almost curious look on his face.

The tall man cleared his throat, "No… no particular reason Mr Potter."

Taking that as an affirmative to leave, Harry collected his food with one last glance at the supposedly religious man and took his normal seat opposite Riddle who's eyes had been relentlessly following him.

"What did that fool want?"

Harry paused, glancing up to find Riddle had transferred his crisp stare from him to Jerome, something like suspicion burning at the edges of his gaze.

"He just wanted me to sit with him." Harry replied simply and Riddle frowned.

"Why?"

A shrug, "Guess he felt lonely."

Riddle scoffed, turning back to the small boy with his eyes narrowed. "You know, I'm curious." He started and Harry tensed slightly at the offhand manner he spoke with. "Last night in the kitchen. You were there," Riddle paused, dark eyes searing into his and just daring him to try and deny what he was about to say, "… and then you weren't." He leant forward ever so slightly, voice darkening, "So tell me, how does someone like you manage to do that? Better yet… how did you get into my room and steal my book without me noticing?"

Unblinking black orbs stared into bright green, eyes that gazed back unflinchingly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Riddle's jaw twitched ever so slightly. "Don't lie to me."

"I thought that book wasn't yours?" Harry said sarcastically, a small grin on his face.

"Don't play dumb, there was a book on my stand that's now _gone _and I want it back. "

Harry cocked his head to the side, he could simply continue on with his facade but why not have a little fun? "What would I get in return?"

Riddle paused, staring at him in disbelief. "How about I _won't _kill you."

Harry merely grinned, "Oh come on. You can do better than _that." _

Suddenly Riddle's arm shot out, grabbing Harry's thin wrist. "Trust me _Harry, _I can do much _worse." _

"I'm sure you could." Harry replied, staring down at the hand wrapped around his joint. "But unless I get something out of it, the book remains hidden."

Riddle scoffed, withdrawing his hand and staring contemptuously at Harry. "Can you even _read?" _And Harry was reminded that he currently looked like a six year old. Hard to be taken seriously looking like he did he supposed.

"If you don't tell me where the book is I will simply tear your room apart until I find it." Riddle said calmly, looking bored with the conversation.

"Great plan. Only it would have to be in my room for it to work." Harry smirked, "Now if you want to rip the whole _building _apart… be my guest."

Riddle's eyes darkened, "One day I will _burn _this disgusting wreck to the ground." His voice burned with conviction and loathing and Harry was left no doubt that Riddle despised this place with a passion.

"Aren't you a bundle of sunshine." Harry muttered, taking a bite of his toast before standing up and leaving the rest of his tray unfinished. Walking away Harry half expected Riddle to either attempt to stop or follow him. He did neither however and Harry was free to apparate to the Leaky Cauldron, unaware of the plan currently stewing the the future Dark Lord's brain.

He frowned at the fatigue apparating brought with it and took a moment to himself, thinking about his future while he did so. Currently it looked like he would be staying here, in this time and he was perfectly okay with that. Why would he _want _to go back? But he didn't want to stay in that orphanage for the next 10 or so years. After all, once Riddle was gone so was his entertainment and after this summer the young Dark Lord was likely never coming back. Well apart from to burn it to the ground if he stood by his words and Harry was certain he would. So… what?

Attend Hogwarts maybe? When had everything gotten so predictable.

Harry stared absently at the floor, unaware that he had been standing in the middle of the room for a couple minutes until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Are you quite alright my dear boy?"

Shoulders tensed slightly and Harry lifted his head up to stare at the man before him, matching voice to face.

"I'm fine." He said candidly, unable to believe that he had picked the exact moment Dumbledore would just happen to be passing through.

Blue eyes gazed at him sincerely, twinkling with what looked to be genuine concern. "You have been standing there for some time. Myself and several others were beginning to worry that you were, perhaps, lost?"

It was sweet in a way, Harry supposed, that strangers were concerned for him but their worry would only succeed in causing him trouble. "I'm just waiting for my parents." Harry answered calmly, hoping his six year old guise would act in his favour at this time and not impede him. Then he looked around, pretending to search for them. "Actually I think I was supposed to meet them out the front. Thank you for your concern though sir."

Before the slightly younger old man could say anything more, Harry had darted out of the pub and into the midday London air. He wasn't really sure why he had apparated to the wizard inn. It just happened to be the first place he had thought of because there was nowhere else to go.

He sighed, staring blankly ahead as the rush of people going about their everyday business greeted his sight. They were all so… normal. So predictable. How had he ever wanted a normal life? How had he ever believed he could get one?

Absently he started putting one foot in front of the other, walking, trying to move forwards. But all paths seemed to lead to the same destination. That's what he had learnt over his lives. Because each time he had tried to do it differently, believing that perhaps, to stay dead, he simply had to do a life _right. _But what was right… that remained lost.

* * *

Harry spent the day exploring London, looking at everything that was different simply because he could. When the sun had finally fallen from the sky and the world around was shrouded in darkness Harry arrived back at the orphanage, appearing in his room.

What greeted him he wasn't ashamed to say surprised him. Bed flipped over, walls cracked and peeled, floorboards ripped up and splintered.

'_I will simply tear your room apart until I find it.' _

Harry might have laughed had it not meant he had lost the book. Eyeing the destruction of his room Harry knew it could only have been caused by magic, he couldn't imagine Riddle getting his hands dirty by doing things the muggle way but the question was, had the ministry noticed? He doubted Riddle would be so sloppy to have allowed some way for it to be traced to him however. He could only assume as well that the devastation Riddle had caused was some form of revenge, some way to make Harry fear him even if it was in vain.

With a sigh of resignation Harry lifted his mattress back onto the metal framed bed once he had pulled it off it's side and lay down. Tomorrow he would confront Riddle in what he hoped would be an interesting conversation. Tomorrow he would worry about getting the book back but for now, for now he decided to just sleep, escape into unconsciousness.

* * *

_Harry lay there, still as stone, eyes fixed on the blank ceiling as he considered what he was about to do. He was about to take that step, give in to the temptation that had been clawing at him for years now._

_Sitting up from his position on the plush couch the room of requirement had supplied for him, Harry watched as several training dummies suddenly appeared out of thin air. Glancing sideways for a final reminder of the spell in the tome he'd found, Harry stood, flexing his wrist and causing his beloved wand to shoot into his hand, moulding into his palm as though it had always been a part of him. _

_Aiming it at one of the dummies, he whispered the spell, feeling the totally different type of magic rush through him, intoxicating him. The blue light swirled out but he barely noticed, instead letting out a gasp as the magic engulfed him, drowning him in it's sparks of energy. It felt so __**different, **__so entirely new and dangerous and enticing and it left him not knowing which way was up. He could loose himself in the pure bliss of the exhilarating rush of darkness that spread through his veins leaving them full of dancing flames. And maybe Harry enjoyed it just a bit __**too **__much. Maybe he __**liked **__how it made him feel so powerful, so strong. It was a drug. _

_And Harry was addicted._

* * *

Green eyes slowly opened and focused. Harry simply lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling to his room that had managed to avoid the demolition much like he had done in his dream. It was strange he thought, to suddenly start having dreams of important moments in his lives. The moments that had changed and shaped him into the monster he was today. Because Harry knew he was a monster. There was no other option really. He could feel no regret or remorse, no sadness or guilt. And sometimes he _enjoyed _the torture he could cause even though he knew it was wrong. Though maybe that was his problem. Because he generally_ knew _the difference between right and wrong. He just didn't care.

The world had left him empty, sucked him dry leaving him nothing more than a hollow shell. It was because of this that he did what he did, just to feel alive. A small part, the old part, knew that he should hate what he had become but the new him just couldn't bring himself to care. Why should he?

What had they done for him? The muggles had ruined him, taking everything he knew and held dear and destroyed it. The wizarding world wasn't much better. They treated him as a tool, a toy to be used and moulded and placed all their expectations on him. Had anyone truly cared about him? The real him? He wasn't so sure any more.

He had long since realised that he owed _nothing _to _anybody. _Not to the wizarding world and certainly not to the muggles. He supposed he felt trapped, alone. Because no matter what he did, no matter who he met or how he acted he would always start back at the beginning again. Everything lost and wasted. So why bother? And even if he tried, he doubted he could. He was too dead inside. It was too late.

* * *

**A/N: **Hope you enjoyed the chapter... I am placing the dreams in there to better understand Harry's character and how he came to be as he is now and also to explain the different ways his lives went


	7. Chapter 7

_**What Do We Fight For?**_

**A/N: **So I am currently suffering from writers block… no surprise, knew I'd get there someday. So because I probably won't be uploading for a while I decided to post what I had managed to come up with despite how short it might be:/ sorry about that. Also sorry for the long wait and I hope to write more soon.

Truly thank you so much for all the support that's been given. Almost 100 reviews and 600 followers… I mean wow.

I have also started another story as my mind has been completely blank for this one. I _will_ be focusing on this one as much as I can though, the other was more to try and spark some sort of inspiration, and it technically did because I came up with this (undeniably short) chapter and spent just under two hours writing and editing.

So I hope you enjoy! If not… that sucks, thanks for reading anyway.

**Chapter 7:**

Bright beams of sun shone through the window, lighting up the otherwise dull room so that, if one looked closely enough, you could see the specks of dust dancing around in the air, following no pattern, no order… they simply were.

Tom Riddle sat on the edge of his bed, eyes staring at the book before him. It had been easy enough to find, a slab of wood was hardy enough to slow him down. The issue however was that the brat had stolen it in the first place. What he would want with a book he couldn't even hope to understand didn't make sense. Everything about that boy didn't make sense but Tom was beginning to realise that he was thinking in the context of a muggle child. Someone ordinary and bleak and useless.

Harry Potter… Everything seemed to fit so much more into the puzzle that the brat was made up of if he was _not _a muggle. Things started to make sense. And the name Potter… he could only assume he was somehow related to the pureblood family but how he had ended up here remained to be seen.

That might help him understand how the child had been able to do what he had but it still didn't change the fact that there was something _off _about the boy. Something decidedly not normal that had nothing to do with the fact that he was magical. He needed to confront him, Tom decided, talk to him. _Understand _because if there was one thing that Tom hated it was not being about to wrap his head around things, including people and Harry Potter… Well the brat was just plain _odd._

* * *

Minutes turned into hours, the knock on his door came and went but Harry didn't move. Instead he merely lay there, mind strangely and yet blissfully blank. Finally he turned his head to the side to gaze out at the ruin his room was currently in. Staring at it for the second time he realised that it didn't look as bad as he had originally thought and figured that Riddle had probably found the book almost instantly. The rest was just out of bitterness or anger or maybe simply the desire to show Harry what he was capable of.

Intimidation was the last thing Harry was feeling at the current moment in time however. He was already acutely aware of just how powerful and dangerous the young Dark Lord could be and just how much he loved holding a grudge.

Swinging his legs out of bed and gingerly stepping on the splintered floor Harry changed into some new, feeble clothes, his black hair even messier than usual.

The day was bright, cheerful almost but that was lost on Harry. His feet took him outside, the sun beating down on him and all the other children as they played in the warmth- knowing that it would soon be replaced with cold and damp nights and dismal rainy days.

Harry sat down at the edge of the garden, right in front of the iron fence that caged them all in like they were some kind of feral animals- and maybe that's just what they were. Because weren't humans the most dangerous of them all? He wandered what made them like that. Was it their minds, their free will? The ability to create new ideas from merely whispers of inspiration? Or maybe it was simply the constant grab for power, the desire to dominate and control and the never ending greed for more?

Whatever it was, it wasn't his concern but it never hurt to try and understand, to make some sense of the world around.

Harry lay on his back, gazing up at the clear sky with only the faintest mists of swirling clouds that would soon be evaporated by the sun. Maybe part of him thought that if he stared for long enough, concentrated for enough time an answer would come to him. That the shape of a cloud or the call of a bird would spark some kind of epiphany as to why he was stuck like this. Why it was even _possible. _But there was nothing.

A shadow overcame his features and a face blocked his view. A child of around eight stood there, a kind if cautious smile on his lips.

"Would you like to join us?" His voice was timid but honest, someone Harry probably would have liked had he still cared enough, had he still wanted friends.

"No." He replied softly, closing his eyes and missing the look of disappointment but acceptance over his denial. Had he seen it, maybe he might have had the brief thought that perhaps kindness wasn't such a bad thing pass through his head… but as it was the boy just became another face in a long list that he would never remember.

Barely two minutes had passed before yet another shadow disturbed him and his eyes flashed open in slight annoyance. Riddles face stared impassively down at him and he uttered just one word before turning around and striding off. "Come."

Harry rolled his eyes at the short demand and at the fact that Riddle clearly expected him to follow. Rising to his feet and trailing after Riddle more out of curiosity and boredom than anything else, he followed him inside. Harry didn't even question where they were going until he realised he had been led straight to Riddle's room.

He paused for a breadth of a second before following inside. After all, curiosity might have killed the cat but he had infinite lives.

* * *

**A/N: **I know… _really _short chapter. Hopefully the next one will be longer though there's no telling when that will be. Thanks for reading.


	8. Chapter 8

**_What Do We Fight For?_**

**A/N: **What's this? An update? I know, I'm as surprised as you. Still, I thought writing this chapter might help me to get back into this story and well, I guess we'll see if it worked.

Either way, this is a relatively short chapter because I want to plan things out a bit more before I move on too much with the plot. But I figured I'd waited long enough for an update so here it is…

And thank you everyone for all the support, I read all of the reviews and it means a lot to know people are reading and enjoying the story.

Enjoy… And try not to be too disappointed - The confrontation is very anti-climatic

**Chapter 8:**

And so he entered the snake pit with barely a second thought. Apparently he could still be as rash

as his Gryffindor roots suggested.

"Shut the door."

Harry stared for a second before deliberately pushing the door as gently as he could manage, so it took a good five seconds before his escape root was successfully closed off.

Slowly Harry turned back to Riddle who was sitting lazily on the bed, staring at him through sharp eyes whose darkness seemed to suck everything around him inside them like voids. It was fitting in a way, the eyes were the window to the soul and Tom Riddle's soul was decidedly broken.

"What?" Harry finally asked after a minute of tense silence.

A slow, predatory like smile curled at Riddle's lips. "Did you know your parents Harry?"

Whatever Harry had been expecting, that had not been on the list. "Why?" He asked suspiciously, regarding the wizard with caution.

"Just answer the question." That infuriating smirk was still on Riddle's lips and Harry resisted the urge to scowl at him.

"Kind of." He replied with a shrug, his lip curling slightly at the corner.

Narrowed eyes was the response to this and Riddle stared at him unblinkingly for a few seconds, "Where are they now?"

"They don't exist." Harry flashed his own amused smirk at his words.

"So they're dead." If Riddle thought anything of his strange wording he didn't say so, perhaps he was simply getting used to Harry's odd answers.

"If you want to be morbid about it."

Riddle peered at the young boy thoughtfully, leaning forward slightly as though trying to get a closer look at Harry. As though he was trying to pierce through Harry's skin and find what was really on the underneath. "What do you remember about your parents?"

Harry was definitely starting to feel suspicious, what exactly was Riddle's objective here? Surely he couldn't be _that _interested in Harry's parents unless… Harry narrowed his eyes.

"If there's a point to this conversation, reach it."

Riddle raised an eyebrow, "You should know Harry, that I don't take kindly to being told what to do. Not by anyone. Not by _you._"

"Oh? Does the great Tom Riddle think himself too superior to respond to us ordinary people?" Harry mocked, taking a sadistic pleasure in the anger that flickered through his dark eyes. "I suppose you'll want us kissing your feet next?"

While Harry was sure that Riddle wanted to retort, he seemed to push the comment aside, more important things on his mind. "Let me ask you a question Harry… Do you know what you are?"

So here they were, Harry thought, Riddle knew. That didn't mean he had to cooperate of course. "I believe I am a human male…" He pretended to think about it, "Last time I checked anyway."

Riddle's lips curled into a sneer, "Enough with the vague answers and obvious responses, _I_ _know what you are._"

"Then you hardly need to ask me." Harry pointed out.

Riddle seemed to release a breath of anger. "You are _infuriating. _Enough pretending. You're _different - _just like _me." _

Harry merely stared, unsure just how to go about responding to his comment. In one swift movement Riddle had stood from his bed and was in front of Harry, his figure towering over him.

Tilting his head up Harry just _looked _at the taller boy.

His move.

"You don't need to hide from me any longer. In fact, you're not going to." Riddle's voice had calmed down to a pleasant tone.

So apparently now was the time to play the naive, 'just discovered he's a wizard' card. Harry took a second to think ahead because while he could do that, he could also _not_. He just had to work out which one would be the most entertaining.

"Prove it." He said finally and by the brief flash of surprise in Riddle's eyes, it definitely wasn't the response he had been expecting, "That you're…" Harry cocked his head to the side, "Different."

Well aware that there was only so much Riddle could do without the Ministry baring down on him, Harry waited expectantly, a small smirk on his face. Frustration flickered through the other wizard's gaze and he cast his eyes about for inspiration.

Finally Riddle started to stride purposely towards the door, "Wait here."

Then he was gone leaving Harry staring at a closed door blankly. Had Riddle really just left him in his room? Alone?

Mind you, there wasn't exactly much he could do - but not about to let an opportunity to go to waste, Harry decided to briefly look for the book.

Apparently Riddle had learnt from his mistake as the book was not on his bedside stand this time. There weren't many remaining places it could be hidden however and after briefly scanning under the bed, he moved on to the cupboard.

There were some muggle clothes along with several robes hanging neatly in the space but Harry ignored them. There were also various boxes slotted in along with a suitcase Harry assumed was prepared for Hogwarts.

Taking a random guess he grabbed a box and as he was sliding it out, something fell from on top of it, hitting the floor. Pausing in his action, Harry stopped trying to get the box out and bent down to pick up the object.

It was a book, not the one he was looking for mind you but it was still strikingly familiar. 'T.M. Riddle' was inscribed in gold, unfaded unlike what he remembered and Harry gingerly turned it over in his hands. Struck with a sudden impulse, Harry quickly opened the door and made his way to his own room. Slipping the diary under his pillow Harry then hurriedly entered Riddle's room once again, proceeding to close the door behind him.

Going back to the cupboard Harry considered where to look first, before he could do anything more however, he heard someone walking on the wooden floor outside. Whether it was Riddle or not he'd find out in a second but not willing to risk being caught snooping through his stuff if it _was, _Harry immediately closed the cupboard and sat down on the bed.

Not a second too soon as Riddle suddenly entered. His dark eyes instantly went to Harry before scanning the room for anything out of place. Apparently satisfied Riddle then proceeded to sit on the wooden chair.

It took a second for Harry to notice and when he did, he could only raise his eyebrows. In Riddle's hands he, almost gently, held a tiny grass snake. "Is this your proof?" Harry asked unimpressed though he had a pretty good idea as to what Riddle was planning to do.

Riddle merely silenced Harry with a look. "What do you want her to do?"

"I don't know, dance?" Harry suggested with a shrug.

"Dance?" Riddle repeated blankly, an odd look on his face.

"What?" Harry asked defensively before allowing a sly smirk to make it's way onto his face, "Fine, ask her to spy on Mrs Cole."

Without changing his expression, Riddle hissed to the snake, unaware that Harry could understand perfectly what he was saying.

The little grass snake disappeared under the door and Tom leaned back, eyeing Harry speculatively. For several minutes there was nothing but silence between the two, neither seemingly wanting to break it.

Then she was back and hissing to Tom who relayed in to Harry. "She's currently drowning her sorrows in a bottle of gin reading a romance novel." Tom repeated, a look of disgust in his eyes.

"Anyone could have guessed that."

Tom looked at Harry in annoyance and he finally relented with a smirk, "Fine, I believe you. After all, anyone weird enough to pretend to talk to snakes is definitely _different._"

If Tom could have _crucioed _him then and there, Harry imagined he would have. Instead he chose to 'ignore' Harry's comment and command the snake to leave.

After a few seconds of silence, Riddle spoke up once more. "Tell me Harry, from what you remember, were your parents like you?"

For a moment Harry was confused as to why Riddle was so bothered but then it hit him. After all, Riddle was all about 'pure' blood… despite not being one himself of course. A fact that still amused Harry today.

"Oh no." Harry said, almost gleefully, "They were completely normal." A lie but if it made things more interesting who was he to complain?

Something flashed through Riddle's eyes, but it was gone so quickly that Harry was almost convinced it hadn't happened at all.

"You're sure of that fact?" Riddle questioned, a clam expression on his face.

"Never been more sure of anything." Harry replied cheerfully, ignoring the suspicion in Riddle's gaze.

Riddle hummed thoughtfully and he seemed to be thinking about something or another. Just what was running through his head however, Harry had no clue.

"Leave." Riddle suddenly said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Not that Harry cared about that.

"And here I thought we were becoming friends." Harry said with a sigh, getting to his feet and grinning when Riddle narrowed his eyes in response. "Alright, I'm going." He said, raising his arms in mock surrender before exiting the room.

Why had he found that so fun? Maybe because whatever sense of self-preservation he'd once held, and lets face it, that wasn't much, had been destroyed long ago. Now he'd gladly take whatever thrill he could find in a very Gryffindor fashion… he guessed some things you just couldn't change. Only now… If he threw himself into dangerous situations it wasn't because he was brave, it was because he was _bored_. And he didn't have any self preservation because he _wanted_ to die.

He had started to think he was more Slytherin than anything else but Harry had realised that he wasn't so easily characterised by a house. No one was. He had and lacked qualities from all four houses, as did everyone else.

Gryffindor or Slytherin, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. No one fit exactly into one and that was an important lesson he had leant over the years. Don't let the house define the person.

Unfortunately, he didn't care enough to try and change how things worked… Didn't want to even try.

Back in his room Riddle stared thoughtfully at the door through which Harry Potter had just exited. He'd expected their little confrontation to answer his questions, not _raise_ more. The child truly threw him off his game. There had been so many things wrong with their encounter… for one, not once had Potter asked just _what _they were. Neither had he seemed remotely interested or surprised that Tom was the same as him. He hadn't even asked any questions.

It was as if he already _knew _that he was a wizard. But if the boy was to be believed in that he was a _mudblood _then that would make no sense. So maybe he was lying. But _why? _

Tom's lips curled into a sneer. He'd have to try something else if he wanted to unravel the oddity that was Harry Potter.

But Tom found that maybe, he didn't mind.

**A/N: **I'm hoping to increase the lengths of any future chapters. But honestly, I'm not going to try and squeeze extra content in that would seem irrelevant. The chapters fall how they fall and will end at points that seem to fit.

But I hope you liked the chapter, thanks for reading.


End file.
